Painter's Hands
by SpellCleaver
Summary: "But if I hadn't gone into those woods, if they hadn't let me go out there alone... You would still be enslaved. And perhaps Amarantha would be readying her forces to wipe out these lands." Short Story AU
1. Chapter I

**My first attempt at an ACOTAR fanfic... I'm very sorry if anyone seems OOC; I'm still trying to get a grasp on these characters. This'll probably be quite short, maybe five chapters at most.**

 **Just to make it clear, this fic is Rhysand x Feyre.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own ACOTAR. It belongs to the marvellous SJM.**

* * *

 _Rhysand_

"So breakable," Amarantha purred. "So. . . mundane."

I swallowed my disgust, and clamped down hard on the writhing anger I felt deep in my gut as she surveyed the human village like one might survey the kindling they were about to throw on a bonfire on Calanmai. I felt that all too familiar urge to kill her. I had my weapons; I had the remaining bare remnants of my power. I could do it.

But then what would come of Velaris?

I could not gamble my City of Starlight on the off chance that she might die.

So I stood there, impassive, and let her preen and plot next to me, saying nothing.

This wasn't a scouting trip of the village we were about to sack. No. She had other faeries, whose loyalties were far less questionable than mine.

This was a chance for Amarantha to revel in the victory she would undoubtably have the next morning.

"This," she said slowly, as though she was savouring the exquisite taste of the word in her mouth, "will be by far the easiest battle we will have to fight in this war."

I could only nod in agreement, lost in my own thoughts.

The scent was stronger here. That scent - _her_ scent. Since my frequent crossing of the wall, the dreams had only become stronger. The scent as well, which had always been more of a hallucination than a tangible smell. Less here than not; more hope than reality.

But on this side of the wall, the scent was a living thread, tugging me forward. Onward. Towards that tiny village on the horizon, soon to be painted in yellow flame, the same colour as the flowers I'd seen my painter girl crafting all those months ago.

The thought made my throat dry up. Cauldron forbid it, was she in the village? Was that safe haven that had sustained me with mere glimpses the same safe haven I was about to destroy?

My stomach roiled, and I wanted to retch.

Amarantha shifted next to me; the wind caught her white dress and the fabric snapped, the colour of ivory claws, as it was blown sideways like billowing sails. "Come," she clicked her fingers. I made to obey, mind still with that delicate girl, and her even more delicate village. "Now that Tamlin's. . . absent," she sneered the word; it was no secret that she'd been beyond furious when the news was brought that Tamlin had run away. "We can make good use of his Spring Court residence."

I stiffened as she gestured with her hand - so pale, so shocking next to her crimson hair - but obliged.

* * *

 _Feyre_

I stood with a snarl fixed on my face, and my ash arrow nocked and drawn and aimed at the humanoid - humanoid, but not human; never human - creature in front of me. And yet despite my threatening stance, my knees wobbled, my neck itched, and a knot of that desperation that came from being so hopelessly unmatched that hope was non existent was being pulled tighter and tighter in my chest.

I was a cornered mouse, and this faerie was the cat. But I would fight to the death for my survival.

Nevertheless, I held my position, even as my bow shook violently with the tremors that racked my hands, and continued to aim it as the golden haired faerie with murder in my heart.

He eyed me with striking green eyes - the colour of fresh spring grass, my artistic side, my useless, soft side, whispered - and then eyed the arrow I had trained on him. He snarled softly at the sight of the ash and the iron, then swept those emerald eyes back up and down my gangly figure, lingering slightly on my quiver, and the three ordinary arrows there.

He chuckled, and it was a weak thread of sound. "If that's truly your only ash arrow, girl, I suggest you don't waste it on me, and save it for a faerie who really deserves it."

I swallowed, and took half a step back. My knees were bent, braced - whether to run or to lunge at him, I didn't know. The bow only trembled harder. "Don't all of your kind deserve it, after all you've done to us? All you're doing to us?" My voice trembled in sync with my hands. It was not from the cold, though fresh snow drifted through the trees.

Because. . . If more faeries were coming through, if the wall between Prythian and the human realms didn't hold fast. . . I didn't think I could get my family out in time. Not with our sufficient lack of funds. Not with my father's ruined leg hurting him even more viciously in the winter months.

He barked a bitter laugh. "I should have known that would be a human huntress's answer." His eyes seemed to glow then, and I watched in terror as the tips of his fingers morphed into claws. My heart hammered in my throat. He seemed to take note of my terror, because he barked another displeased laugh, and the claws disappeared.

I took another step back, and over the sound of my racing pulse, over the scramble of terrified thoughts, I tried to _focus_. "But what do you mean?" I took a deep breath, and it steadied my hands. It was a surprise when I realised I had subconsciously lowered my bow. "'A faerie who really deserves it'? What are you talking about?"

He took a deep breath, and seemed to steel himself. My agreement to hear out his point seemed to excite him, as he took one eager step forward. I took another step back, and his face fell.

"Please," he said, and his voice cracked. A snowflake hit the collar of my worn hunting jacket, and I shivered as the freezing water slid down my breath. "Just hear me out." I lowered my bow by a fraction - all the signal I was going to give him. He took it as it was, and said, "She's going to torch your village."

The world went very, very still, even the eddies of snow stopping in their spiral. I sucked in a breath.

He took it as encouragement, and rushed on, "Amarantha - an old faerie from the war five hundred years ago. She took over Prythian, and has now gathered what army she could, and is going to take back the mortal lands, and take your kind as slaves. She's-" He breathed a guttural sigh "-she's readying herself right now, and will attack some time tomorrow."

My bow had dropped altogether now, and I only gaped at him. He smiled slightly. "I thought you'd want to know."

I slung my bow back over my shoulder, put my bow back in my quiver, and gripped my face, sighing. Finally I looked back up at him, and said in a quiet, cool, authoritative voice that was not mine, "Well then, faerie. You are coming with me, and you are going to help me prepare my village."

He creased his brow, and opened his mouth to say something, but I interrupted before he could, "Oh, don't try to argue. You can turn into a beast, or draw your sword and fight me if you want. Kill me if you really have to. But that would rather conflict with the reason you gave me the warning, wouldn't it?" I laughed mockingly, and his eyes narrowed with distaste. . . and a glimmer of respect. I jerked my head. "Now come with me. Let's see just how much you can help."

* * *

Elain and Nesta's reactions were, understandably, not ones to be desired. My father was asleep in his chair, thank goodness, so I didn't have to contend with his.

"Feyre!" Elain called as soon as I stepped in, and kicked off my hunting boots where they were falling apart at the seams. I cast a warning glance at the golden haired faerie to stay just inside the door, hidden from the ravenous eyes of my sisters, and stepped forward. "What have you got?"

I slanted a glance at Tamlin - we'd barely spoken on the walk back, but he'd had the sense to tell me his name. I hadn't bothered to return the favour; he'd find out soon enough - who remaining unmoved, and I responded harshly, "A few rabbits. And news of our certain doom."

I slung the three rabbits I'd shot before the unfortunate - or fortunate, in a way - encounter and they thumped onto the table. Nesta looked at them, a sneer curling her delicate lips, and I resisted the urge to scowl at her. But she still looked up at me through her lashes and scoffed, "'News of our certain doom'? Don't be so melodramatic, Feyre."

"I'm not." I responded curtly. "I glanced back at Tamlin, who had his eyebrow raised as his gaze flicked between Nesta and me. I wondered what he thought of our loving sister relationship, then decided I didn't care enough to ask. "Apparently the faeries are dissatisfied with their lands in Prythian, and are going to sack our village."

Elain's gasp was one of fragility and frailty; her hands fluttered up to her mouth like golden butterflies. The movement was as dainty as though she was a lady wearing lace gloves. "No!"

Nesta's blue-grey eyes - my eyes, our mother's eyes - narrowed further. "Don't play games." She commanded. "Don't joke about things like that."

I looked back at Tamlin, and jerked my chin in an imperial summoning worthy of the lady I could have been. He stepped forward unquestioningly, and Nesta backed up a step, Elain going rigid with fear. My eldest sister snarled softly, then reached out to grip Elain's arm and tug her behind her.

Tamlin's eyes glittered like chips of ice. "It's true."

Nesta started trembling - from rage, not fear. "How _dare_ you!" She hissed at me. "How _dare_ you bring him here, and endanger us like that!" A thought struck her. "How did he even get in?"

I waved it off disinterestedly and drew a knife from the strap at my waist. Elain flinched as I began to painstakingly skin the rabbits I'd caught. I sneered under my breath. "Have you not been listening?" I asked my eldest sister incredulously, each word punctuated by a swipe of the knife. Strip of bloody fur gathered at my feet. "If what he's saying is true, we've got bigger problems to worry about than whether or not the cheap carvings that lying charlatan agreed to do for us work. I'm surprised you believed they worked in the first place."

Tamlin had not moved from his position by the door. Nesta marched up to him, and spat, "What is it you want? We don't have any gold, and if you're looking for us to worship you like those Children of the Blessed fools then you can-"

"I'm not." He interrupted. "I just came to warn you." He narrowed his eyes at me. "Your sister - Feyre? - told me to come here so I can help somehow."

Nesta scoffed again. "How could _you_ help?"

I'd finished skinning the first rabbit; I put it aside and picked up the second. I met Tamlin's eye and obtrusively flicked my eyes to the chair in the order for him to sit down. He obliged.

I resumed my motions with the second rabbit. "Tell me about faeries." I said, and he blinked his confusion. "What strengths do they- you have? Any weaknesses besides iron and ash?"

Tamlin gave a short laugh. Nesta was silent, still with one hand gripping Elain's wrist, glaring holes in the side of Tamlin's head, but at least she didn't object as he spoke. "Faeries aren't impervious to iron." He said with a laugh, and I frowned. "I don't know where you got that idea from."

Elain and Nesta shared a confused look. "Faeries can't lie," she murmured, "so-"

Tamlin twisted round and interrupted, "What do you mean faeries can't lie? I don't know where you got _that_ idea from either."

I breathed a sigh, then snapped, "So what _are_ your weaknesses then?"

He pursed his lips. "Ash." He said plainly, eyeing where I'd left my quiver menacingly. I raised an eyebrow at him, sensing he wasn't done, and he said, "And a stone mined on Hybern. It has the ability to put a damper on magic."

I raised my eyebrow.

Ash and stone. Stone and ash.

"Interesting," I murmured.

* * *

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	2. Chapter II

**Thank you all for your amazing feedback! I'm glad you seem to like this story.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not, and never will, own the wonder that is A Court of Thorns and Roses.**

* * *

 _Feyre_

"You're an idiot," Nesta hissed at me, as we straightened up and brushed of our dresses. Since our father had began to re-establish his career as a merchant, we'd started to enjoy a steadily increasing income. Although I still had to hunt if we wanted meat, as the prices had skyrocketed as the winter wore on, we were by no means starving anymore.

I'd told myself that soon, we could afford paint. We could already, but Nesta and Elain always needed new clothes, needed a new brooch that they saw in the village and just _had_ to buy, needed only the best of vegetables to grace our table.

There was no space for a hobby between such desires.

But. . . Soon, I told myself. Soon, Elain and Nesta would be married - lords with eligible sons were already circling, keeping an eye on our family's profits as they crept upward - and my father and I could live in peace.

But right now, we had more pressing matters to worry about - like the faeries who thought they could just sack my village, and that we would take it lying down, like the dogs they thought we were. Hence the reason Nesta, Elain and I were loitering on the local lord's doorstep. My sisters' attire was the finest dresses we owned, and my own was the normal clothes I went hunting in - loose, comfortable, and easy to move quickly in.

Easy to blend into your surroundings in.

I'd taken note of Elain's fluttering excitement over the past few weeks whenever the lord's son, Grayson, was mentioned, and carefully catalogued it until a suspicion took root in my mind. Indeed, now, she seemed more nervous than warranted. True, it was Elain, but I had a funny feeling that wasn't the only reason.

"Are you out of your _mind_?" Nesta continued, even as she reached up to knock on the door, firmly, decisively. "I can't believe you're risking so much on the word of a _faerie_."

She spat the word, but it was quiet, more of an undertone than anything louder. I understood. It would not be a good idea to say such a hated word whilst on the threshold of a man who hated that species with a burning passion - enough to covet a grove of ash trees, surrounded by sky high walls. The door and the knocker were carved with symbols that I guessed dated back to when humans had been slaves to their immortal kind, and we had needed all the protection we could get.

Whether they worked or not was a mystery. Cleary the ones that passing charlatan had carved on our house had been completely useless. But maybe carved by someone with skill, or with words that actually mean something, they would work.

Or maybe we humans just needed something to believe in.

Whatever it was, the lord clearly believed in them. Or perhaps they were just for show. Nevertheless, his superstition highlighted him as a faerie hater, and that led me to believe that his walls hid a veritable forest of ash.

That's what I was hoping, at least.

Distinctive, crunching footsteps rung out from behind the wall. It was a monstrous, grey thing, ringing the entire estate and leaving outsiders to be evaluated and judged before even letting them set foot on the winding gravel path. But I kept my distaste well hidden as a stout, dark haired man swung the door open and squinted at us.

"You'll be Elain and Nesta Archeron, won't you?" He asked, looking at my sisters. Then he glanced past them, to me, and his brows crawled together like two great bushy caterpillars. He glanced between Nesta and me, no doubt taking note of our undeniable resemblance, and flicked his eyes to the side. casting his mind back - to what he'd last heard about the Archeron sisters. "And I presume you're Feyre?"

I nodded, and didn't make any move to step forward, but Nesta's strong hand still snaked back and pressed against my chest, pushing me backwards. "Feyre was just escorting us," she explained haughtily, and the man blinked then, as though he was only just noticing our differences in attire. "Our father was worried - so many more attacks from over the Wall, as I'm sure you've heard." She said is smoothly, assuredly, but with an air of a concerned citizen. The man couldn't help nodding along. "And Feyre is particularly proficient with a bow, and hunting knives, so. . ." She shrugged, and examined the man, eyes lingering slightly on the rapier at his side. "She's no mercenary, but you take what you can get."

The man flicked his eyes back to me, and I could feel the weight of his assessing gaze as he took in the bow over my arm, the full quiver on my back, and the knives sheathed at my waist. He gave me a quick nod - of respect, I realised belatedly. One fighter to another. Thankfully, I had the nerve to nod back.

He turned back to my sisters, and said briskly, "Well then come in. Grayson is waiting for you," he added to Elain with a sly look. My sister blushed, and I smirked to myself at my assumption being proved right. Nesta's gaze was murderous as she flicked her eyes back and forth between the three of us, trying to work out what he was referring to. I gave her a superior look, and she flipped me off with a scowl when Elain and the man's backs were turned. I choked on a laugh.

The man halted briefly, then looked at me, "Will you be coming in with us, or waiting outside?" He inquired, and I gave him a small smile I'd learned off of Elain - one that made me seem innocent, and harmless.

I had no doubt the extensive weapons on my belt contrasted the image drastically, but he seemed to buy it as I said sweetly, "I was told to wait for them out here."

He nodded, and turned back to where Elain was waiting patiently for him further up the path, playing her part of the doe-eyed potential bride perfectly. I gave Nesta a look weighed with significance, and for all her prickliness she nodded and went up to take the man by the elbow, inquiring on what time of bush a shrub with pink bell like flowers was.

I took my chance, and slipped into the courtyard.

I stuck to the wall on the way round, my grey clothes - the grey of wet snow; the grey of iron bars - inconspicuous against the grey stone wall. I had slipped round into the shadow of where a tree provided a suitable hiding hole, then stood there, as still as I would be if I was mere feet away from a deer I was stalking. I forced myself to breathe, and let my body flow with the movement. My eyes tracked my sisters as they traversed the path, then disappeared into the house.

I took another breath.

Then ducked out from behind the tree and took off.

I ran low, and kept to the web of dirt paths, lest my footprints somehow leave marks in the grass. Everything in this plan relied on stealth.

I passed round to the side of the manor that Elain informed me had few windows, and that the few windows there were adorned the walls of rooms such as bathrooms and storage rooms, that no one would be looking out of. I turned another corner, to where my sister had told me there were no windows, due to it being the side where the lord grew his grove, and he didn't want any busybody guests he was forced to entertain getting too curious about it.

Sure enough, as I rounded another corner - the garden paths had long since run out and become uninteresting flagstones - I saw the beginnings of trees. I didn't hesitate as I ducked into the cover of the canopy, but I made sure to keep my footsteps swift and silent, like I did when hunting. Who knew what workers or manner of creatures lurked in here.

Then I set off, deeper and deeper into the woods, counting the minutes in my head. Ten minutes, I gave myself. If I didn't reach any manner of ash tree within ten minutes of walking, I would turn around and head in a different direction.

Fortunately, at eight minutes forty seven seconds I spied the pale bark that betrayed the species I was looking for. Nine minutes and thirteen seconds and I was surrounded by those trees.

I peered ahead of me. The lord's estate stretched to encompass about a dozen acres of land, and though my father had told me once that such a size was nothing compared to other estates he'd seen, it was a sizable amount of land to grow ash on, and would yield a sizable amount of ash. Why didn't he share it out amongst those who needed protection? Clare Beddor and the rest of her family had been taken last week; Isaac Hale had hinted to me during our meetings that someone close to him had disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Why not spread the holy protection this wood afforded?

I didn't realise quite how deeply I was scowling until my cheek muscles ached when I tried to relax them into a neutral expression.

It didn't matter what the lord did with his ash. The wealthy had no mercy or compassion; I knew that. And whining about it wouldn't change anything.

So I stepped up to the nearest ash tree, and began to climb.

* * *

Two hours later, and I was leaning against the wall, an expression of boredom masking my face. In truth, my heart galloped like a racing horse, and my mouth went dry at the thought of what the punishment would be if anyone discovered what I'd done. Stealing from a lord was generally not encouraged.

I almost sagged with relief when the gate opened, and the man was ushering my sisters out with a slightly dazed smile on his face. Elain thanked him, and curtsied prettily, whilst Nesta remained stony faced, even going so far as to scowl after the man as the gate swung shut behind him. Fortunately, he had his back turned, and didn't see.

"How did it go?" Elain murmured as we walked away. I gave a curt nod in response, and she seemed to get the gist of it: _It worked. I'll tell you in more detail once we're further away._

Because ever step felt like dragging iron chains through rock, and I waited for a moment with each movement, waiting for the shouts of "Thief!" to begin.

But no one did. I'd done my job well: select a random ash tree that looked fairly healthy, climbed to a height most would call dizzying at best, fatal at worst, then began sawing at the branches there, about as thick as my thumb. Hopefully, no one would climb that far up and see the incriminating marks of the handheld saw I'd stowed in my quiver amongst the arrows. And even if they did, hopefully the details I'd added would make it look like a crow or raven had snapped the twigs off as part of their nest.

Once the branches were cut, I'd set about cutting them into sizable pieces, each one the length of my forearm, and stowed them in my quiver. The arrows of normal wood I'd brought, I'd snapped the heads off of, ripped the feathers off and scattered the twigs amongst the undergrowth to make space.

Thankfully, we made it home without being caught, where I found Tamlin lounging by the fire in my father's chair. Thankfully my father was away for his business, or I don't want to imagine what he would make of this colossal mess.

Nesta's face tightened as we walked in, but she refrained from making a snide comment about the faerie's presence, which spoke volumes about her attitude towards the whole ordeal.

Tamlin glanced up then, and he cringed at the sight as I slung my quiver off and set the pale sticks of wood on the table. I took that to mean that the power of ash wasn't a made up folk tale.

"By the way," he said cautiously, eyes flicking between the twigs, Nesta, and me. "My friend came looking for me - said he was worried. I invited him in."

I ignored Nesta's cry of outrage, and before she could jab her finger at him and say whatever uncensored thing was on her mind, I butted in, "Where is he then?" with a raised eyebrow.

Tamlin seemed to sigh in relief, then glanced to the side - at the old worn stool next to fire. I looked at it, and between one blink and the other a faerie coalesced. He, like Tamlin, wore a mask, but his was the russet hue of a fox's ragged coat, rather than the alluring gold Tamlin had.

I jerked backwards in shock. The stick I'd held in my hand held to the floor and rolled under the tables. the two faeries watched it warily.

Despite that wariness, the other faerie bent down and picked up the stick, wincing a little when it came into contact with his skin, but he handed it to me nonetheless. I accepted it, and nodded my gratitude. "Feyre." I said shortly, by means of introduction. Tamlin looked scandalised that I'd done it before he had the chance to.

But his friend laughed slightly, and nodded at me. "Lucien." He replied, his face just as curt as my own. I took a brief liking to him.

"Feyre?" He asked. I just looked at him. "That's a very old name."

I shrugged. "And this is a very old war."

Silence fell after that.

I pulled out a chair from the table, and sat down. I picked up a knife and began to whittle away at the ash stick in my hand; I guessed that a stake, or at least something pointy, would be more useful than a twig. "You told me about the weaknesses of faeries," I said carefully, and took note of the surreptitious glance shared between Lucien and Tamlin. "But what about the strengths? Anything we should look out for?"

Another shared glance. I absently wondered if they realised we could see them perfectly well as they did that.

"Well," Tamlin began, and I turned my attention to him. Lucien hissed something I didn't catch before he could continue, and his friend shot him a withering look, then turned back to me. "When she attacks-"

" _She?_ " I interrupted. "Who's _she_?"

Lucien said through gritted teeth. "Amarantha. The King of Hybern's general." I could have sworn that the candles and the fire burning in the grate guttered at the mere sound of her name. "She took over Prythian, and took us all as slaves."

"Ah." It was all I could say.

Tamlin still looked mildly annoyed at being interrupted. "Anyway, when she attacks, she'll have the Attor - a great winged faerie from Hybern - circling above, and the rest of her supporters on the ground, as most of them don't have wings. She'll attack swift and fast; she won't want any villagers to survive. She's not just looking to attack the village," he added. "But to exterminate it."

The cold afternoon wind suddenly blew colder.

"So it'll be short and brutal." Lucien surmised, leaning back against the wall. The light of the fire and the grey light from the window played over his face, making him look like a figure carved of ice, bathed in flame. "She won't want to warn the mortal queens on the continent of her impending attack before it comes."

"Is there any way you two could possibly help?" I asked, mind whirring.

Another shared glance. Tamlin's throat bobbed. "We can set up wards," he admitted. "But if she's brought Rhysand along with her, he'll be able to shatter them with half a thought. Many layers and layers of wards might help, but he'd get through them in time."

The information spun like a delicate top on a single point in my mind; like a cog trying to find where it fit. I said slowly, "Who's Rhysand?"

Lucien snarled, and Tamlin reciprocated the expression. The scowl was still carved into his face as he said, "The High Lord of the Night Court."

"Amaratha's whore." Lucien spat in addition.

I weighed the options again.

"Would multiple layers of wards slow him down, perhaps long enough for those inside to arm themselves, or barricade the door?"

Tamlin's brow creased as he thought, then said, "Yes."

I looked back at my sister's, where they'd taken their seats. Nesta's blue grey eyes met my own, and mirrored my gaze: calculating, assessing. We both flicked our gazes to Elain, who was gnawing her lip with worry, and when we met eyes again, I knew that had hardened Nesta's resolve.

I nodded, just once, knowing she understood, and she nodded back.

I turned back to the two faeries in our house, and felt the significance of the moment weigh down on me, and made it hard to breathe.

But I refused to let my voice falter as I said, "Now this is what we're going to do..."

* * *

 **Is this any good? Did I wreck it? I love to hear your thoughts!**


	3. Chapter III

**Disclaimer: I don't own ACOTAR, or any of the characters. They belong to Sarah J. Maas.**

* * *

 _Rhysand_

I was wandering the human realm in an attempt to run away from the guilt that haunted me over my part in Amarantha's schemes when I first saw my painter. As of the time, I didn't know who she was, but even without the knowledge of what she was fighting for, I admired her fight.

Really, it was unfortunate that we were on different sides - at least on the outside. Because the moment I saw there was still some fight against Amarantha left, I started debating whether or not to join it. What would benefit my court and Velaris more.

I can't remember why I decided not to turn her in in the end; after all, it didn't really benefit Velaris or me at all. Not at the time. But I'm glad I didn't.

It was in her woods that I saw her first.

The woods that bordered the wall between Prythian and the mortal realms weren't ventured by many humans, and only the most desperate of hunters would dare traverse so close to the wall. Especially since the recent and far more frequent faerie attacks on the village. So I didn't expect to encounter anyone on my wanderings, not whilst Amarantha trusted me more than she should, and with her situated in the Spring Court, she knew I couldn't wander too far. I would probably have to service her again that night, after Tamlin's disappearance. She hadn't asked for my company since she'd won - she'd had Tamlin, after all - and now that she'd lost him again, she wouldn't be happy.

Of course he'd run away. Rutting coward that he was.

I froze as I heard the crunch of footsteps on fallen leaves. This was no faerie; the person's scent was undeniably human, and. . . familiar. I stepped, quietly, silently, into the shadow of the nearest tree and watched as the girl stalked into the clearing.

She was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen.

I didn't know why. I'd seen more breath-taking faeries, been with absolutely stunning beauties, and her beauty was very much of that human imperfection that Amarantha used to mark them as lesser. True, the slant of cheekbones, the flutter of her hair, the precise shade of her grey blue eyes was alluring and pleasant, but _beautiful_. . . It wasn't a look, I decided. It was more of a feeling I got from her - of love, of appreciation, despite the harsh frown her face was set in, and the graveness of those bright, bright eyes. She seemed too young to be so serious.

Her hair - a confusing shade that was somewhere between gold and brown - fluttered behind her as she walked, and she was clad in a jacket and boots that were falling apart at the seams. Dirt crusted her face, her hands, the right of which clutched a bow. A quiver of arrows was slung over her back. The image of her standing in the centre of that glade, with the November trees stripped of their leaves behind her, and only shadows and light surrounding her, it struck me that I had never met someone who seemed so lonely.

She clung to the edges of the glade, and it was only when she froze, then, very slowly, reached up to nock an arrow in her bow, did I remember why her scent seemed so familiar.

.

About a year ago now, I'd been wandering these same woods, wondering whether or not Tamlin, with only a few more months to go before the bargain, would start to dispatch his sentries again in hopes of breaking the curse, when I'd seen her, and the wolf.

I immediately recognised the wolf for what it was: a faerie. One of Tamlin's faeries, even, whom he'd shifted into a wolf, presumably in hopes of making them more. . . killable.

And there was this girl. Staring at it. It was staring right back.

She'd had an arrow nocked in her bow. An ash arrow.

I hadn't had time to analyse whether or not she knew it was a faerie, or whether the ash arrow she'd selected was from sheer luck, before she'd drawn back her bow, and fired.

And despite the fact that this could be our only saving grace, despite the fact that doing what I did might be the thing that damned us all, I reached out with a tendril of my magic, and altered the arrow's flight path, so that whilst the arrow would have gone straight through the wolf's glowing, golden eye, it missed entirely.

The girl had done the smart thing after that, and run. The wolf hadn't chased after her.

.

Now I again watched from the shadow as she nocked an arrow and crept forwards. Towards-

Towards, I realised, where we'd set up a temporary camp the night before. And left some supplies behind.

How did she know where we'd been!?

Her steps were soft as she crept forward. She was as quiet as the grave; not even I could hear her, and could only hear the rustle of her clothes as she moved, and the slight sniffs emanating from her nose.

Sniffs. She was smelling for magic, to see if she could detect any traps before she fell into them. Clever, lovely human.

Finally, she froze, and I froze with her. Then she bent down, and when she rose, she held those abhorrent chains crafted from the rock underneath Hybern in her hands. She clutched them tightly, glanced around, and went to coil them into her quiver. She went to sneak away.

But I couldn't let her go, not without talking to her first. Unravelling some of the mysteries behind her behaviour. So I stepped forward, into plain sight, and drawled with the typical arrogance expected of the High Lord of the Night Court, "And _what,_ exactly, so you think you'll do with those?"

The effect was instantaneous. Her entire body tensed up, and a gasp ripped from her lips as she spun to meet my eyes. Her lips twisted into a defensive snarl, and a thrill sparked in my blood at the sight. She moved her right hand behind her back, almost as if she was trying to hide the bow in it. I raked my eyes up and down her frame, and noted how it had tensed, and how she was trembling.

Not from fear, I realised, as the wind swept her scent towards me. But something deeper, and far more aggressive - almost territorial - than that.

Anger. She trembled with anger.

I continued talking, and the scent only grew stronger as I said, "You don't have any magic to nullify, as a human, so I really don't see the point in you taking those."

Another scent hit me then, not at all strong, barely noticeable. But deeply hated by me.

Tamlin.

And Lucien.

She'd had contact with them.

 _How?!_

I'd diverted the arrow she'd shot. She shouldn't have gone to the Spring Court. She couldn't have.

Unable to resist, I briefly sifted through her memories, and relaxed as I found that she'd never set foot in Prythian in her life - and had that healthy dose of fear and respect for the faerie lands that almost all mortals had. Then I began to panic at the cold resolution I met, and the borderline suicidal plan she'd made. That Tamlin and Lucien had agreed to.

But I dragged myself out of her head, and faced her. She was glaring at me, the arrow in her bow nocked and aimed. . . for my heart. I snorted inwardly at the irony, then studied the arrow. Ash.

Where in the hell had she gotten ash from?!

She gritted her teeth, and took a surreptitious step back. "What do you want?"

I snorted - out loud this time. "I think that translates to: 'why haven't you made a move to attack me yet?'" I prowled towards her, and heard her breathing hitch slightly in fear, even as she slowly and carefully planted her right foot behind her left - whether to brace herself for a fight or to put as much distance between us as possible, I didn't know. I paused, and cocked my head. I just stood there for a second, my hands in my pockets, and surveyed her.

Despite her obvious fear, her resolution had not lessened. I refrained from dipping into her mind, as welcoming as the brush of it felt, for some reason getting the funny feeling I didn't want to hear whatever it was she was thinking about me.

"But I have attacked you already," I said simply, and she flinched physically then, rolling her weight onto her back foot and taking another staggering step towards the edge of the glade. Away from me. She sniffed the air - once, twice - and narrowed her eyes when she didn't smell the tang of magic. I took another step forward, ignoring her second flinch, and tapped my temple. "Hasn't that faerie lord of yours taught you to keep your thoughts shielded from my kind?"

She spoke then, and her voice was both familiar and infinitely strange, the question I hadn't even known to ask. "My faerie lord?" She said, confusedly and incredulously. I loosed a breath. "And what do you mean by ' _your kind_ '?"

I felt it between us then: a faint bond. Something that bound us together gave an almighty tug, and I stepped forwards. Who was I to disregard the Eddies of the Cauldron?

Alarm flashed across her face at the intensity in mine, and she went to run, but I crooned, "Running, would be futile." She stilled, as motionless as death, as I continued, "You think I can't run faster than a mere human? Especially," I said, eyeing the area where her clothes hung loose on her frame, "a malnourished, half starved, half wild one?"

Her mouth tightened at my words, and I knew that somehow, I'd struck a nerve. But she didn't comment on it, only raising her chin to demand again, "What do you want?"

Perhaps I shouldn't have said it, perhaps it made me a damned fool for being so blunt, but. . . I looked her straight in the eye, and found only an admirable steel will there as I said, "I want to help you."

I knew - Cauldron, I knew perfectly well - how much she might not believe me. A sceptic, a protector. . . She was smarter than to fall for the first pretty words that were flung her way. And she wasn't going to gamble the safety of her wards on the empty promises of a random stranger. _Especially_ a random stranger who happened to be a faerie.

But perhaps it was that bond between us, or some semblance of it that she felt on her end. Maybe she'd felt the tug, and decided to tug back.

Whatever the reason, she looked up at me and said, nothing but a cool and calculating assessment in her tone, "Why?"

I shrugged, but the gesture was far from casual. "Perhaps it's because I don't particularly like the way my kind are headed. Perhaps because I disagree with her views." The girl's eyes had narrowed until only a whisper of cloudy grey remained visible beneath her lashes. I added quietly, and this phrase alone was testament to the bond of trust I felt with this human girl, "Perhaps I have my own court I'd like to protect, just like your Tamlin."

She didn't say anything. Didn't even blink.

I ignored her unresponsiveness, and kept talking. "And your plan isn't the most solid one," I added. Looking back, perhaps that was what caused her to respond the way she did: her opposition to my habit of sifting through her head whenever I pleased. "It has a few loopholes, that could do with some patching up. I could help you there," I supplied with a wink. She didn't stop glowering.

"Get out of my head." She snapped, and my grin turned feral.

"Make me," I challenged, putting my hands back in my pockets. Just for the sake of it, I let one mental claw scrape against her shields, and she let out a quiet shriek of terror. I smirked. "Shove me out."

She glared even harder, but she didn't dare move to attack me, didn't dare _breathe_ , not when I was poised to shatter her mind with half a thought. "Get. Out."

"Make. Me."

A gush of self, and of the pure substance that made up _her_ washed through her mind, lubricating my hold, until I slipped out.

"Good." Was all I said. "Keep it up."

She snarled at me, and in that moment, despite the faeries' primal nature, she looked more animalistic than anyone I'd ever seen.

I refused to let how much that fazed me show. "So," I began cheerfully. "Will you take me up on my offer?"

I sensed her response a heartbeat before she responded. And yet despite that, I was still ever so slightly disappointed.

"No." She said, in the tone that I knew meant not to push her. She turned, and walked away.

I told myself that this was what was best for Velaris. For Mor, and Amren, and Cassian, and Azriel. For me. For even the gods-damned Court of Nightmares. Because if Amarantha found out I'd been working with the enemy to undermine her attack. . . I didn't want to think about what the consequences of that would be.

And what's more, a part of me didn't _want_ to push this girl to accept my offer. Even if that same part now stung viciously with her rejection.

So I just let her walk away. But I kept my eyes on her until she disappeared from sight. And whether she felt it or not, she didn't look back.

* * *

 **If anyone's interested, my friend and I started a fan account on Instagram called books_ships_tears. Check it out if you're interested!**

 **By the way, I promise this is a Feysand fic. Just give it a little while to build up. There were hints of it here.**

 **What did you think of this chapter? Review?**


	4. Chapter IV

_Feyre_

When I got home, the lights had all been lit to ward against the gathering dusk.

I smiled at the sight, and shook my head to rid my mind of the image of that faerie offering to help. For some reason, the offer had felt genuine, and I wished I was in a stable enough position to accept it.

But this was the forest, and it was winter.

The stone chains in my quiver were uncomfortably heavy as I slipped in through the door, to be greeted by the sight of Elain making awkward conversation with Lucien, and Tamlin watching them a little suspiciously, and. . . enviously. He looked up when I came in, and though Nesta switched her glare from him to me, I gave them all a small, tired smile as I shrugged off my quiver and carefully lifted the chain I'd gathered out of it.

Immediately, Tamlin and Lucien recoiled.

I furrowed my brows. "What's wrong?" I asked, even as I saw the smoke and shadows coalescing at Tamlin's fingertips to form the ghosts of claws.

"It feels. . ." Despite his revulsion, Tamlin seemed drawn to it, as he stood and came to run a hand along the chain. He winced. "Wrong. Like every part of me, every drop of my magic, it screaming at me to _get away_." He shuddered. "I haven't felt the hideous touch of that stone in. . . Centuries."

I bit my tongue to keep back the barrage of questions. _Centuries? And why and when did you have contact with it?_

But all I said was: "At least we know it works."

Lucien's face had gone pale, both his metal and organic eyes riveted to the stone. His russet hair was stark against his drained face. "Indeed we do."

I nodded, and lifted it back into the quiver. I cast a glance at Nesta, who was eyeing me like a hawk, and said, "I suppose you're to be the one doing the stitching? After all," I added, and I couldn't keep the note of bitterness from my voice, "my hands are so rough; I couldn't possibly pull off the delicate stitches you could."

Her eyes flashed, but her tone was icy as she cut in smoothly, "I wouldn't expect you to be able to know _how_ to stitch, what with your lack of education."

It was an effort of will not to claw her face - that beautiful, beautiful face; so much like our mother's, especially when Nesta wanted something - but I just clunked the chain down on the table, directly on top of a peeling painting of long fading foxgloves, and stalked into the bedroom.

* * *

I'd just stripped off my gloves and was considering falling into bed early despite the mountain of things I had left to do today, when the creak of floorboards behind me alerted me to the presence of one of the faeries. I knew it wasn't Elain or Nesta; they were too light and walked too daintily to make a sound, but the faeries walked as though innately rooted to the ground; like a mountain of muscle and brutish power. I turned, and narrowed my eyes at Tamlin, who gave me an awkward smile as he stepped into the bedroom and looked around. I itched to tell him to get out, but obliged him.

His green eyes were wide behind the mask as they fell from the large bed, onto the single chest of drawers, and then back to me. I stalked over to my drawer, and the stars painted on it rattled as I yanked it open none too gently, and flung the thick gloves I used for hunting in there.

When I turned around, Tamlin was perched on the bed.

"So," he began. "Lucien and Elain seem to be getting on quite well."

"What of it?" I asked distractedly, picking up my bow and unstringing it.

"Lucien is. . ." He trailed off as I kneeled down and began to unlace my boots. "Unyielding, when he talks to females. He doesn't have the best reputation with them, and has had some bad experiences that I think might have scarred him - and understandably so. It's rare for him to show any sort of affection." I kept my eyes on my laces, and the leather falling apart around them, as he huffed an exasperated sigh. "Your sister should be honoured."

"I'm sure she is," I replied. "After all, how rare is it that a faerie deigns to speak to a human?"

His lips tightened into a line. "I didn't mean to sound condescending-"

"Well, you did," I said flatly. "And please, get out of the room so I can get changed."

Tamlin just gritted his teeth, but- "Did you ever see a white wolf in the forest?"

I paused. "What?"

"A white wolf." He repeated. "Absolutely massive - it was probably the size alone that gave away the fact he was a faerie. Massive, snow white, with two golden eyes the size of dinner plates. It would have been in the winter," he added desperately.

I rose from my crouch; the laces trailed behind me as I took a step forward. "Around December? In the snow?"

He nodded. "Yes."

I swallowed. "Then yes. I saw it."

"What did you do?"

I looked down at my laces, and crouched to continue untying them. "I shot at it," I admitted, eyes still fixed on the floor, even as the boot came free and I switched foot. "It was cold, and we were running out of food, and it was about to steal my prey. So I shot at it."

"And?" The eagerness in his voice unnerved me a little.

"I missed," I said shortly. He released a breath. "It was the first shot I'd missed in years - and it was the only ash arrow I had. It was on course to go right through its eyes, when a sudden gust of wind came and blew it several metres off course. After that, I ran." I breathed a ragged breath. "Why?"

I wasn't sure he was breathing. "Because-"

"Feyre."

We both jumped as I turned, slightly relieved, to find Nesta silhouetted in the doorway. Her lips formed lines as sharp as the edge of a frozen lake as she glared at Tamlin until he took the hint, and left. Nesta came forward to sit on the bed as I crouched back down to finish my second boot, and although my eyes were on the ground, I could still feel her glare crisping the back of my head.

I looked up, and her eyes - my eyes; our mother's eyes - were wintry. "What are you doing."

I tilted my head; my hair rolled over one shoulder. "What do you mean?"

She stood, and I had never noticed with as much clarity as I did in that moment, just how much taller she was than me. Especially when I was crouched down. I straightened up to meet her stare, but she still had a few inches on me.

"I mean." She stressed the last word. "That everything you're doing right now, is foolish. Reckless. Idiotic. Why are we housing two faeries beneath our roof, when we can barely house the three of us?" She hissed. "Why are we bothering to stand and fight to help the villagers, rather than just fleeing?"

"You would flee?" I asked incredulously. My voice rose without my bidding it. "You would run, and let innocent people be slaughtered?"

"I would!" She shouted right back. "I would, because I value our family more than I value a bunch of merciless strangers, who wouldn't bother to save me given the chance!"

I screamed right back at her, and I didn't care as tears slipped down my face, the physical embodiment of all the icy barriers we'd maintained around each other melting. "Then go!" I heaved a breath, and found some sort of steadiness in the undimmed fire in Nesta's eyes, even if it was directed at me. "Then go, flee! Leave me to do this on my own!"

Nesta's voice quieted, and I knew it hurt her pride to say, "We can't survive without you." There was a certain brittleness to her words.

"Of course that's what you'd say." I barked a bitter laugh. "Of course you'd think of your own survival - yours and Elain's. After all, who am I? Certainly not a part of the family you seem to care _so_ much about - enough to abandon innocent people to the claws of _monsters_!"

"You call them monsters," she hissed, "and yet you _ally_ with them! I suppose it's only fitting," she continued with a dark thrill o her words. "You're a half wild beast yourself - why not join with others similar to you? What's your thought process? That it will take a monster to destroy a monster? Why _not_ choose them over your family?"

"Do _not_ preach at me about family." I said quietly. Venomously. "Not when you sat back and let us starve for so any years, when I had to go out time and time again to keep up all alive." I sighed, and passed a hand in front of my face. When I dropped my hand, my voice was steady. "I am going to stay, Nesta. I am going to stay, and fight, because fighting for survival is all I know how to do. So stay or go, but I am going to stay here a defend my fragile dream of a life where all I have to do is paint. And neither you, nor Elain, nor the faerie lords themselves, can stop me."

Nesta sniffed, and straightened her posture. She stretched her swan-like neck, and for a moment she looked down at me with all the cold imperiousness of our deceased mother, and saw nothing but a dirty, bloodied girl, who'd fought and fought again, whose hands were rough whilst hers were soft.

Then she said stiffly, like it hurt her to say. "Then I will stay as well." She pursed her lips, and added, "But the moment that. . . _this. . ._ is over, you are going to teach me how to hunt."

The words shocked me momentarily, but then I nodded, equally as stiffly. "Alright."

"Also. . ." She bit her tongue, then said, "You are going to teach me how to paint."

My mouth moved without my consent. "Very well."


	5. Chapter V

**I know it's been a while, and this is such a short chapter, but I swear the next chapter is when stuff starts getting interesting, so please, bear with me.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the ACOTAR franchise; it belongs to Sarah J. Maas.**

* * *

 _Rhysand_

Everything was about to go to hell.

I knew it even as Amarantha smiled and chatted with her underlings. I knew it even as a stray breeze rustled again my back, making me ache to unfurl my wings and fly far away from here. I knew it even as I watched the sun slide over the horizon as though, it too, couldn't stomach the sight of the mass slaughter that was about to occur.

It was a small force of faeries, barely a hundred strong. We'd been marching over from the border with the Spring Court for the past two days, and now we were ensconced somewhere in the woods, deep enough that no hunter would dare venture that far, but near enough to the village that I occasionally noticed the Attor or one of its ilk lift its nose to sniff the scent of human prey that drifted over with the wind. I swallowed. That human huntress would not survive this. I wished she'd accepted my help.

But then, neither of us would have survived this.

But even as I knew this as keenly as I knew the edge of the blade strapped to my waist, or the phantom weight of the wings I was forced to keep hidden at my back, I knew other things.

I knew that the way the wind was blowing wasn't opportune, and that the wood stank of human inhabitation anyway.

I knew that whether or not this village put up a fight, this was be ugly. Amarantha would sweep in with fire and arrows and gore, and leave no survivors.

And I knew, somehow, that something was going to go wrong. That the huntress's hopes hadn't been in vain, after all.

And I knew that with certainty as I crested the hill and surveyed our small - almost pitiful, though I knew the meagre numbers was a testament to Amarantha's arrogance and low opinion of humans - army. Then I turned to the tiny village nestled in the dip between two hills, not a single light winking in the cobbled streets. And that darkness, above all, was what told me something was wrong.

Or right, depending on how you look at it.

Only once did I ever ask Azriel about his shadows, and what they told him, or how they told him anything. He'd just looked at me, face wrapped in a shade of his own making, and replied that I of all people should know the difference between the darkness of sleep and the darkness of death. That I should know better than anyone just how alive the darkness could be sometimes, and what it could tell you.

It told me a lot today. During the previous nights, I'd observed the cosy, warm darkness that shrouded the town; a darkness sprung from a simple lack of need for light; the darkness of dreams; the darkness of a door firmly shut and locked against the outside world. The darkness tonight was different.

It was the thick, inky stamp of a stranger's shadow against the silhouette of the door. It was the blackest night beyond the protective circle of a campfire. It was the darkness of squeezing your eyes shut, the covers thrown over your head to hide from the monster under your bed.

It was the darkness that fell in the earliest hours of dawn, before a massacre occurred.

What I didn't expect, was for the faeries to be the ones slaughtered.

Amarantha's grin was blindingly feral when one of her faeries lit a torch, and the glow of the flame illuminated her face. The second moon in the sky, watching from the top of the hill as a home went up alight. She tossed her mane of red hair back like a lion ready to roar, and opened her mouth to speak.

But the minute - almost inaudible - scrape of flint against flint cut her off. She froze, and the faeries around her froze too.

Only a few hundred feet away, lights began to spark in the village. Individual torches, like the one Amarantha now held, but far more of them. Dozens, sweeping through the town like a flame spirit danced the streets.

Pale faces lined with fear, courage, anger, you name it, stared them down. Human faces, with the unfinished, shoddy edge to the skin that meant it did not glow like a High Fae's, with the murky colours of their eyes and hair.

The twang of a bowstring rang out moments before a lesser faerie screamed. The army jostled uncertainly and I used the chance to push forward to where the male who had been shot now lay dead. An arrow - ash, by the looks of it; where the hell had they gotten ash? - had been fired straight through his heart. And that scent wrapped round the shaft. . .

Cauldron damn me.

I searched the crowd of villagers. By the time I'd spotted my huntress crouched in the shadows of the roof of one of the highest buildings, she'd fired three more arrows, each with brutal precision, and Amarantha had already given the order to attack.

I saw the moment the terror overcame the villagers, but they held fast as they let the faeries come to them. I was impressed. They raised their weapons - pitchforks and butcher's knives and clubs and were those _ash stakes_ \- and waited for the wave to break.

And break it did.

I casually stood by Amarantha under the pretence of trying to protect her so I could observe, though I actively sought out the minds of the humans and faeries alike who were about to fall, and stole away their pain as they died. So many died that night, with blood soaking the cobblestones until they ran like crimson rivers with the dawn. But it was obvious who was flagging.

Somehow, against all odds, the humans had emerged victorious.

That human huntress had taken the resources she'd gathered and put them to good use. Ash arrows, ash stakes, ash sticks sharpened until the edges were knives. The clothes the villagers wore, as the faeries soon learned, were stitched with the shards of the chains Hybern mined that nullified a High Fae's powers, so it took more effort than they were willing to expend in hand to hand combat to use magic on their opponent. They fell like dominos poised to topple, but the set of their jaws and the fire in their eyes didn't lessen, and they fought dirty, even with a fatal wound pumping blood out of their stomachs.

They fought like half wild beasts.

Cassian would be so proud.

I felt Amarantha grow still and cold beside me as the too-few sentinels she'd brought to fight this war for her fell.

They were skilled. They were, undoubtably, more gifted than the humans. They could have won. But in Amarantha's arrogance she'd forgotten to consider how a man or woman dies to defend their family and home. She'd forgotten how many people they'd face. She'd forgotten how much she was trying to take from them.

And finally, _finally_ , she ordered a retreat. We fled into the woods to stake a camp and consider our options.

The remaining villagers would have sent messages to the surrounding villages. Soon, the entirety of the mortal lands on this Cauldron-damned island would know what had happened. Not only would the news spread that humans had defeated the faeries all by themselves for the first time in living history, but then the news would spread across the Bharat, to the mainland, and then north to Vallahan, and the rest of the world.

This would mean war again.

And now, the humans knew it was coming. They knew they had the means to beat us.

We could launch an attack again, and rely on their weakened state and damaged weapons to work in our favour, but we were weakened just as much as them. It was a two day trip through the forest to the Wall, and more from there to Tamlin's manor, where the rest of the army awaited orders. And apparently I wasn't the only one who noticed the huntress picking off faeries like game amongst the fray, because another High Fae mentioned bitterly that for all we knew, that pretty human archer might come and treat us to ash arrows in our throats whilst we slept.

Amarantha was silent for most of the discussion, only chiming in occasionally to call order when the debating got out of hand. She'd dispatched the Attor early on in the discussion to do something, and when it returned, it whispered something to her.

Only then did she smile.

She addressed the crowd. "I've received word that Tamlin and Lucien were the ones who sold us out." She stated. A ripple of unease spread through the gathered as the faeries wondered how she would take to the news that her "lover" was a traitor. "They're currently living in a small cottage - tiny, really; far below their usual taste, but who can fault them for it in their desperacy - with three human sisters, who somehow managed to orchestrate the whole thing."

My heart leapt into my throat. What she would do to those girls would make a mass slaughter look merciful. And that they'd orchestrated it. . . I grew cold. Surely - _surely_ \- the huntress couldn't be one of them?

She turned to a faerie sitting near her, who cringed back in fright. "You will go with the Attor to scope out these girls, and bring one of them back here for questioning." We all knew what "questioning" was a euphemism for. The woman would be made an example of. "Do you understand?"

The faerie nodded, and Amarantha suddenly looked pleased with herself.

It was horrible, really, I thought, how everything could go to shit, but so long as she could punish the person at fault, she'd be thrilled.


	6. Chapter VI

**Here's a nice long chapter for you, after the wait. Some of the dialogue in this chapter was taken directly from the start of ACOTAR, if it looks familiar.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot. It all belongs to Sarah J. Maas.**

* * *

 _Feyre_

"I don't know whether to be relieved or apprehensive that it worked so well," I admitted to Nesta as we trudged up the hill from the village towards where our cottage stood.

"Be neither then," she told me, lips pursed as she used her position of further up on the hill than me to peer over my head and observe the still bustling village below us. "Be grateful."

It was near sunset, and most of those over eighteen had been awake since before sunset the previous day to fight and die before the faeries, then to clean up the mess in their wake. There was some sort of unspoken understanding amongst the villagers as they tallied the dead that this was the last straw. We wouldn't be able to hold out against them again. I wouldn't be surprised if I woke up the following morning and found the town deserted, it's residents fled.

Nesta and I were looking into where we could run, ourselves.

Suddenly, my eldest sister's brow clouded in a dark writhing fury I'd initially thought she reserved for our father. Before I could interpret it further, she'd shoved past me and stormed back down into the village. I spun on my heels, and in my surprise my eyes tracked head brassy head, and not the unholy smear of white that had her so riled up.

"How _dare_ you come here! How _dare_ you show your faces with your simpering smiles and fools' faith after what happened last night!"

It was an instant after those words blared that I registered the situation, and that familiar feeling of irritation welled up inside me. The Children of the Blessed. They couldn't have chosen a worse time to show up. I sighed.

"May the Immortal Light shine upon thee, sisters," chimed the woman - no more than a girl, really - in the front. I eyed her warily; the acolytes had been known to be somewhat dangerous when angered. Though I was loath to admit it, she _did_ look like some sort of light shone on her. She had moon-white skin that unmarred by any blemish or smudge, and even her hair seemed to glint unnaturally in the steely sunlight. Her fellow acolytes behind her were similarly radiant.

The acolyte waved her hand, and the sound of tinkling drew my eyes to the bells made of real silver at her wrist. The legends said that faeries could be drawn to a spot by the sound of bells, more so if they were of silver or gold. I felt my eyes widen at the thought of what the faeries that had survived last night would make of it, if the legends were true. I turned to exchange a glance with Nesta, but her lips were already curling back from her teeth.

She took an aggressive step forward, and yanked the sleeve of her gown up to her elbow. The acolytes recoiled as though they were faeries themselves at the band of dark grey braided iron encircling Nesta's wrist. I had no idea why she was wearing it after Tamlin and Lucien had explicitly told us themselves that it had no effect, but there it sat, and the twist to my sister's mouth told me she wouldn't be taking it off anytime soon.

"How _dare_ you wear that affront to our immortal friends-"

"How dare _you_ wear those bells and try to call those _monsters_ to our village! You wander like the headless fools you are, hoping to recruit more likeminded folk to your cult, but you weren't here last night. You didn't see your fellow villagers and humans fall before them like grass in wind. So don't you _dare_ tell me that they are harmless, that they are _good_ , when the blood of your own species still floods the streets."

"Well said," appraised a rough voice behind us. Nesta started, and I turned to see the mercenary we'd conversed with last night standing behind us, her many weapons lining her waist like the teeth of some gaping maw.

The acolyte marched on with her tirade. I wasn't sure if she was really so stupid as to think that she could still convince us, or trying to defend the cause she loved. "Our benevolent masters would never hurt us. Prythian-"

"Is above the Wall." I said flatly, and went on to lie with, "It's likely not to become relevant anytime soon. You're fighting an uphill battle."

Her brown eyes flicked to me, perhaps for the first time. She glanced at my wrist, and when she beheld no iron band - when we'd had the money to buy them, only Nesta and Elain had bothered - she beamed, as though she'd labelled me as a potential convert. "A worthy cause," she said cheerfully.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the mercenary beat me to it. "No." She cut her off. "It's not."

The girl visibly deflated, and as we moved away, she and her group didn't try to follow.

"Fools and fanatics," the mercenary dismissed, gaze following them as they turned, then she fixed her eyes on me and Nesta. "I'd have thought you'd have the wherewithal to dispatch them sooner. It certainly seemed so yesterday."

I gritted my teeth. Once we'd commenced our temporary truce, Nesta, Elain and I had gone into the town in an attempt to convince the villagers to fight back. The hostile relationships between us and the main body of the village had slowed down discussions considerably, but by the time an hour had passed, we'd recruited the more reasonable ones, like Isaac, to our side. The main barrier was that they refused to believe the attack was coming, since we refused to explain where we'd heard it from. I didn't want to know what sort of abuse we'd receive if they found out we'd been harbouring two faeries.

Even the support we'd had was waning before the mercenary, who'd been quietly listening from where she was perched on the lip of the fountain, had chimed in with, "They're right. With the increase in faerie orchestrated attacks from across the Wall lately, I wouldn't be surprised if they were to target this village."

One of the men - Tomas Mandray's father, the one who beat his wife - had whirled around to sneer at the mercenary, before he'd caught sight of her knives, and shut his mouth. But he struggled out, "How?"

The mercenary had stood, and walked towards their knot of people. She'd jerked her chin at me and said, "The girl's plan sounds like a strong one. And they're right when they say that unless you want to leave your entire livelihoods behind to be ransacked and looted, thus leaving you without an income, you can't get far enough out of this village in time to escape the massacre. Which leaves the option of standing and fighting, and _maybe_ surviving, or lying down before them as they slaughter you and your family and burn your fields to ash." She'd used one fingernail to tap the steel at her waist; the sound clinked unnaturally loudly in the sudden silence. "You could always join the Children of the Blessed, I suppose, and hope they would grant you mercy, but the last fanatical fool to go over the Wall never came back."

"Then why haven't they cottoned on to the fact that they're monsters?" I'd asked, before I could stop myself.

The mercenary nodded towards the eastern horizon. "They were in the last village I visited, preaching about how she'd become a High Fae's wife, and wanting for nothing." The mercenary had snorted. "But that's not relevant. What's important is that you listen to this girl here, and grab the only shot of survival you have by the throat before it gets away from you, and you're lost to the bloodshed."

"We'll die either way," one of the men had said.

"Of course you will. But which odds do you prefer? The fifty-fifty chance of winning or losing, or the certainty that if you don't resist, you're carrion?"

The men had murmured amongst themselves, shifting their feet relentlessly, but they'd capitulated soon enough and begun to listen to what we had to say.

Now, I answered the mercenary's question with a simple, "They can get nasty when riled."

"I bet." Her gaze sliced to them, then back again. "But you managed to shoot down faerie soldiers who were far more threatening than those buffoons last night. Where's the difference?"

I involuntarily looked to Nesta, whose brow creased in confusion, then something like grim understanding as I said, "In the cause."

The mercenary clicked her tongue, but remained silent. "Where'd you learn how to shoot like that, girl?"

I swallowed, and purposely avoided glancing at Nesta. She hadn't made a single "half-wild beast" comment for over twenty four hours, and I would've liked to keep it that way. Instead I answered vaguely, "I taught myself how to hunt."

The mercenary's eyebrow knitted together. "But there aren't any decent woods round here to hunt in-" She glanced towards the forest just visible north of the village, amongst which was the legendary Wall that divided human and faerie. I suspected that very Wall was the only reason we'd survived the encounter; that, and the commander's undoubtable arrogance leading them to only being able to bring a small force through. "You go into wolf territory - close to the border with the faerie territory - to hunt?"

I shrugged with feigned nonchalance, and when I glanced at Nesta, her face was oddly still. "I do what I need to do."

The mercenary had very interesting eyes, that artistic, useless part of me observed as they flicked between me and Nesta. Primarily black, with speckles of brown and bottle green that made them fascinating from up close. Fascinating eyes, that saw far too much when they looked.

Finally the woman said, "I see."

 _I'm sure you do_.

I didn't voice the words though, and instead bit out a quick, polite farewell and went to jog up the hill when her voice pulled me back like a thread. "Those letters you wrote-"

I flinched at the mention of it. It'd been Elain's idea to notify the authorities in the larger towns on the mortal part of the island, and to sent letters across the sea to the mainland, to warn of the attack. To warn that our unfriendly neighbours had just crossed a line in the sand, and couldn't be relied not to cross it again. The village elders had approved the idea, and asked me to write it, as _the one who had made it happen_ , as though it was somehow my fault they'd launched the attack. Of course, being unable to read or write, I'd dictated it instead, whilst Elain wrote. Now we had six beautifully sealed envelopes marked in my sister's flowering script, ready to be sent to each of the mortal queens.

"-would you like me to deliver them?"

The offer caught me off guard, and I whirled to face her, but she seemed to be sincere. I opened my mouth but she explained curtly, "I'm headed to the mainland as it is - I can't find much work here, with the country being so poor. And I'm the only person in town who owns a horse they're not planning on using to carry as many of their wordly possessions on as possible when they split. As a mercenary, I'll be able to get them delivered."

"Alright," Nesta said, eyes glittering. "We'll go and fetch them now, and then we'll meet you at the tavern in an hour."

She nodded. "Fine."

The walk back up to the cottage was silent, though it was simply a lack of anything to say, than a need to say nothing. It was only when we'd reached the front door, and the stupid, stupid carvings that were meant to ward against faeries crunched beneath our feet, that Nesta said, "You'd better teach me how to shoot a bow the moment we get out of this hellhole."

I laughed a little. "Deal."

I sensed something was wrong the moment we crossed the threshold. The scent of blood stung my nostrils, and I pivoted where I stood, taking in the splinters of what had been the table I'd painted foxgloves on in the wrong shade of blue. The few plates we had were smashed on the floor, and the window was smashed in, the lead and glass glinting like lethal rain on the floor.

It was Nesta who found her voice first.

"Elain?"

The name dropped like a stone, but received no answer.

"Elain!"

Her voice was becoming steadily more frantic.

"ELAIN!"

In a sort of daze, I moved away from my oldest sister, and shook off her hand when she grabbed for me. I moved into the bedroom, saw the bed we'd shared, and rummaged under it for where I'd shoved my bow a few hours before, still sticky with blood. It was dried now, and flakes of it flaked across my hands as I pulled it out. I didn't know what I was planning on shooting in a house empty save for me and Nesta, but it was nevertheless a comfort to have it in my hand.

I emerged from the room just in time to se Nesta throw the table leg flowering with painted daisies at the wall. It split in two with an ugly crack.

"They're gone."

We both whirled to see Lucien curled up in a ball against the wall, spattered in blood. Not even the mask on his face hid how distraught and shattered he looked, and his bronze eye whirred as he looked up at us.

Nesta was already marching towards him, but halted when he flinched. "Where is she." She said icily. Not a question, but a command.

"They're gone." He repeated. "The Attor and the other faeries came, and took her, and they took Tamlin as well, even though he fought back." Indeed, lots of the shreds in the wall appeared to have been made by claws. "He glamoured me, and let them think I'd run, and then they took him and Elain and now I don't know where they are." His breathing was hard and fast. "They're gone."

The world had quietened. There was an insistent, tugging pressure on my mind. But even so I heard what Nesta spat with perfect clarity as she turned on me. "This is your fault."

Too much sound too much death too much blood- _"How?"_

Her eyes narrowed, until the silver lining them turned them to the edges of glinting coins. " _You_ led them here. If you hadn't been so determined to play _hero,_ and save the whole damned _v_ _illage_ , instead of running like any _sane person_ , they wouldn't've come after us and they wouldn't've taken Elain!"

The pressure worsened. "In case you've forgotten, if we hadn't fought back we'd've been slaughtered!"

"We knew about the attack far earlier than anyone else! We don't have any livelihood anyway. We could've run and made it far enough away in time that we could warn the next village over what was happening. But instead you decided to argue with those old snobs who have done absolutely _nothing_ for us the whole time we've been here!"

There was a further fight to be had here, but it wasn't a fight worth picking. "Let's not talk about this now."

"When are we going to talk about it then?"

"After we've gotten Elain out." The pressure was getting worse and worse and worse and now my head was pounding and I couldn't think straight- "Help." I said, more to clear my thoughts than to voice a corporeal idea. "We need help."

 _Help. Please, anybody help._

The pressure eased suddenly, so suddenly I was sent staggering back and had to lean against a wall to regain my bearings. Nesta and Lucien seemed to be arguing now, but I couldn't tune into what they were saying.

Then that pressure returned, but this time with a voice that was both alien and familiar, and reverberated through my skull. _What do you need help with?_

Instead of answering with words, I threw the situation across this phantom bond, all tied up and desperate like a bag of stones packed tightly together. The voice was silent for a moment, before it said, _I see._

That was the moment I was certain I was going mad.

Even so- _Please, please, please help. If you can._

The response was instantaneous. _And what would you give me in return?_

I looked around me, as the floor I was sitting on as I slid down the wall. At Nesta and Lucien, now silent, staring at me with terrified eyes. Because yes, that was terror in Nesta's eyes, and enough rage to burn the world down and turn it into her own personal hell. I took in the shattered remains of my paintings, the shambles of the cottage, the cold emptiness where Elain should've been.

I had so little to give, but for this, I would've given the world.

 _Anything._

* * *

 **What did you think?**


	7. Chapter VII

**Sorry, I know Lucien's OOC in this chapter, but I wasn't sure how to fix it.**

 **Disclaimer: I only own the plot. ACOTAR belongs to SJM.**

* * *

 _Rhysand_

When the Attor and its cronies returned with a girl who was _not_ the human huntress, I was relieved beyond words.

Unfortunately, that relief dissipated nigh on immediately after I noticed the colour of her hair, and the distinct similarities the chosen girl bore to said huntress, leading me to deduce that the huntress was one of the sisters involved in coordinating the attack, and that she would probably be distraught at her sister's imminent demise.

Sure enough, when I let the bare dregs of my powers still allowed to me by our queen reach out to find that too familiar scent and infiltrate the owner's mind, the wave upon wave of despair almost destroyed me there and then. I almost didn't notice what I was doing, feeling like it was the most natural thing _to_ do, as I hastily formed a tether, a bond, between our minds so I could communicate with her directly.

 _I must find a way to help,_ I swore to myself. If she'd rejected my help before and done fine on her own, she _had_ to accept it now, if only because there would be no one to help her here. No one to fight tooth and nail, because the loss of her sister meant nothing to them, not in the face of their own lives, regardless of any life debts owed. _At any cost save that of Velaris and my friends_. I owed her that much.

But it expended a lot of my energy using my heavily rationed power to not only maintain that bond, but also to slip into the captured girl's mind and take away the pain she felt. I didn't dare look at what Amarantha was ordering to have done to her; I felt sick enough already. Cauldron knows I'd done enough killing myself in my lifetime, but this was different. We had fought and lost, but the opposition was fleeing anyway; there was no need for this paltry show. It was just about Amarantha gaining the respect of her underlings again after she'd lost it so spectacularly amidst the defeat.

Although I suspected it was also an indirect way of punishing Tamlin, who now stood pale and emotionless by her side. He didn't even blink at the distress of the girl who'd taken him in and housed him for the past few days.

I wanted to collapse when I heard something coherent. _Help. Please, anybody, help._

 _What do you need help with?_ I responded instantly, not allowing myself to think through what I was doing.

I caught the ball of tangled emotions she threw at me, and felt exhaustion creeping over my shoulder as I painstakingly unravelled them. Much of the situation I already knew, but the emotions she felt hit me like a blow regardless. It was easy, sometimes, living with a person like Amarantha, to forget that others lived and loved just as fiercely as I did. If not more so. _I see._

I thought it more to myself than anything else, but I sent it down the bond regardless, and she responded, _Please, please, please help. If you can._

She didn't need to ask, as my mind was already made up, but she didn't know that. Nor could I allow her to know that, I chided myself; I was the High Lord of the Night Court. If anyone found out that this wasn't a game of power play, my court could be in jeopardy.

So, to maintain the illusion, I said, _And what would you give me in return?_

The response was slow, considerate; I half expected her to try to break the connection, or back out. But this was the woman who'd singlehandedly set up a way for the residents of her town to get out of an impossible situation alive. She wouldn't leave her sister to die. _Anything._

I sucked in a sharp breath, and the faerie next to me cast me a bemused glance. It was Tarquin, High Lord of the Summer Court, I realised. Amarantha had required all the High Lords to be there. I supposed she wanted us to see the slaughter, and feel the burden of the dead on our shoulders. A way of threatening us into submission. But it had backfired, and given us all hope instead.

I fixed a wicked grin onto my face, and pretended to be enjoying the sight of the torture. Tarquin looked away in disgust.

 _Very well,_ I said to the huntress. _Meet me in that spot in the woods we were when I last offered to help you. You can even bring your sister if you want._ I felt her surprise wash over me as she realised who I was, and the wariness, but I didn't let it get any further as I inquired, _I think I should know your name, if I'm going to be helping you._

A little hesitancy, then, _Feyre._

 _I'll see you there soon, Feyre._ I left before she had the chance to inquire my own name.

I released my hold on the tortured girl's mind, and when her screams began anew, they provided the distraction I needed to slip away unnoticed.

* * *

 _Feyre_

"I knew it," Nesta bemoaned, though her words still had their regular bite to them. She dragged her hands through her hair and edged her way around a fallen tree branch, eyeing it like it had mortally offended her. "You're trying to get us all killed."

"Don't be absurd," I admonished. A twig cracked behind us, and I shot a glare at Lucien; he hadn't liked the idea, but if he insisted on coming, then he would had better be quiet. He shot me an apologetic look, and I tightened my grip on my bow. Even though I was forced to trust the faerie we were collaborating with, didn't mean I would forgo a bow in my hand and a quiver of arrows on my back as we went to meet him. "It's not like we have a choice but to trust him."

"Too right you don't," said the cool, collected voice I'd met that first day in the woods. I whirled, hand flying to my quiver, but he gave me an unimpressed look and I dropped my arm. I didn't loosen my grip on my bow though, and he just raised an eyebrow at my whitened knuckles. Then he looked at Nesta and smirked, and my sister's hands balled into fists. "I do hope that you weren't planning on pulling out? Your sister's life _is_ at stake."

Nesta opened her mouth, scalding words ready to spill forth from it, like she was a cauldron that had begun to boil, but Lucien cut her off with a snarl. "Rhysand."

The male - Rhysand - looked at him for the first time, and smiled at him. There was nothing sweet there. "Hello there, little Lucien. How's your worthless master doing? Did he drop the leash?"

"Shut up. Shut your filthy mouth you _prick._ " Rhysand didn't stop smirking. The look didn't fall until Lucien spat, "Whore."

And then it clicked.

 _"Who's Rhysand?"_

 _"The High Lord of the Night Court."_

 _"Amarantha's whore."_

The male notorious for carrying out Amarantha's bidding with glee, had offered to help _me_?

Rhysand broke his menacing glare at Lucien to give me a smooth smile. "No need to sound so surprised, Feyre darling. I don't like to put all my eggs in one basket. They all run the risk of breaking, that way."

"Get out of my head." I snapped. His smirk returned to his face.

Nesta was still simmering. "And what basket is this then?"

He turned to her and said without inflection, "A sturdy one, with extra padding inside, being carried by someone with enough sense not to drop it." He cast a sly glance at me, and I felt those mental claws rake against my mind. I recoiled.

 _"Prick."_ I spat, and ignored the concerned - well, not concerned; more like wary - glance Nesta shot me.

Rhysand laughed to himself for a moment, then said, "So do you want my help or not?"

"Don't trust him," Lucien immediately shot out. "Don't accept his help."

The High Lord just stared at him coldly. "You haven't even heard my idea for getting the girl out."

"We don't need to. Feyre has more sense than that."

Rhysand just fixed me with a look. He didn't need his telepathic ability to convey his message. _Yeah Feyre, are you going to listen to him?_

"What was your idea."

Lucien gave an outraged growl and threw his hands up, but Nesta's harsh sidelong look shut him up efficiently. Rhysand studied the two of them. "Interesting."

" _What_ is interesting?" Nesta barked.

But a small smile was playing about Rhysand's mouth, and somehow I intuitively knew we would get nothing from him.

"Rhysand," I said sharply, drawing his attention back to me. "What was your idea."

"Oh please, Feyre darling, I'm Rhys. Only captives and enemies call me Rhysand." He smiled again, but it looked more like he was baring his teeth.

 _Does that make me your friend? Ally?_ I wondered to myself, but his grin told me he'd heard.

He responded coyly, not to mention cryptically, _You are my salvation, Feyre._

"My plan was simply that I wait until nightfall, winnow your little sister out of Amarantha's camp and into your house, and you ride like hell until dawn breaks. That should get you far enough away."

"She's older than me." I said, even as my brain whirred. Nesta looked at me incredulously, as though she was thinking _That's what you got from that explanation?_

Rhys had frowned slightly at my words though. "Is she now."

"Yes." I said. "And it would be that easy to get her out? This seems like a trick."

He snorted. "At least you're honest about it." But he held up his hands, and the look on his face was perfectly sincere, or at least, as sincere as a faerie could look. "But I've spent fifty years building up a reputation as nothing more than a whoring reliable lap dog. They won't be watching me."

Even so, I hesitated.

He noticed, and his face fell, all traces of joking gone, into a mask of stone. "I've trusted you by even letting you know I was considering helping you. Can't you trust me now?" There was something pleading about his tone, but I couldn't discern why. "After all, it's suicide for a human to approach Amarantha. What you got away with? It won't happen again. I'm the best shot you've got."

I exchanged a look with Nesta, but the fierce set to her jaw told me everything I needed to know. She didn't like it, but even she knew this was possible the only way to get Elain back. I looked past he to Lucien, who was milk white and looked faintly ill, but he shook his head in defeat nonetheless. We were out of options, and he knew it.

"Alright." I said. "We'll trust you for now, Rhys. I'll see you and Elain at the cottage sometime tonight."

When he smiled, his violet eyes twinkled at me, like he was telling a joke only I understood.


	8. Chapter VIII

_Rhysand_

I had to wait until twilight fell once again to get the girl - Elain, Feyre had called her - out. What I'd said to Feyre about Amarantha trusting me _was_ true, and there was no guard or sentinel she could set that wouldn't let me through without question. But the issue was that in itself: she'd entrusted the guarding of Elain to none other than the Attor, whilst she turned her attention to Tamlin, and it wouldn't be likely to keep the secret that _I_ had been the one to last see the prisoner before she disappeared. I had to make it seem like I was blameless if I wanted to continue to protect my court by playing Amarantha's whore.

So until then, I had to put up with the Faerie Queen's court, and the raucous, cruel laughter that sprung from it. We had set up quite a sufficient little camp from our spot deep in the woods, one that could potentially last us for weeks. It made me wonder what she was planning, and why on earth she felt the need to stay out here for so long, rather than simply returning home and coming back with more might, more power.

 _Home_. I scoffed to myself. As though anywhere in the Spring Court, or Under the Mountain, could ever be home. But I couldn't return to Velaris. I wasn't sure if I ever would.

"Rhysand," Amarantha purred, and I snapped to attention out of my thoughts as a lesser faerie with vibrant purple wings was dragged forward before her. I moved slowly to her right and made sure to pay attention as my gut clenched. "Tamlin here has admitted that this Summer Court faerie helped him escape the manor. He refuses to admit to acting on orders from his High Lord." I glanced at Tarquin; his face was bloodless. "Find the truth."

I hated myself even as I gripped the faerie's mind and rooted through it. Memories of Tarquin and Tamlin colluding in a darkened hall, orders coming from his new High Lord's mouth shortly after Nostrus died, and the stench of guilt written all over him.

I surfaced, and shot a surreptitious glance at Tarquin. His lips were wan now.

"He's not lying," I said aloud, allowing my hands to drift into my pockets and a small, confident smirk to play about my lips. "He acted on his own, defying Tarquin's orders to stay out of trouble. His High Lord had nothing to do with it."

Tarquin's body relaxed, though it was still significantly tense. I smirked at him, and the expression he wore seemed to ask _Why?_

I didn't want to know why myself.

Amarantha smiled at the imprisoned faerie, and there was nothing but the promise of death in that gesture.

* * *

I was reminded of the feeling of holding a faerie's mind in my claws so tight I might snap it later on, when I made to fulfil the bargain I made with Feyre. I'd waited for the guards to change, and once the Attor was gone, I'd seized his replacement's thoughts and spoken softly, invitingly into his mind. _Don't cry out, or I'll shatter it._

He remained perfectly motionless. Sweat began to bead at my brow.

 _Good. Now enter the tent, grab the girl, and winnow here_. I sent a mental image at him of a random spot in the woods I'd chosen, far enough away that it would be difficult to track Elain's scent. The guard obeyed perfectly, and once he returned I put him to sleep, and delicately removed the memories from his skull. I set him gently against the tree and his head lolled to the side.

"What are you doing?"

My shoulders clenched to the point of physical discomfort at the sound of the voice, and I turned, already missing the power I'd once had to mist someone where they stood. But I was left with nothing as I looked at Tarquin, and met his wary stare.

I slipped my hands into my pockets and asked casually, "Why would it matter to you?" Tarquin opened his mouth, but I continued, "I did save your life after all. Or would you have preferred I told the truth?"

Tarquin's lips tightened, but his eyes flicked once to the tent where Elain had been kept, his nostrils flared, no doubt scenting her absence, then cut back to me.

I could already see the indecision over what to do next warring in him, but I leaned forwards and purred, very quietly, "I suppose she'd always be interested in whatever insight I have. She does trust me, you know."

That solidified it. The masked threat had him jerking a stiff nod at me, then walking away, as quickly as possible.

I winnowed to the point where the guard had taken Elain, and found her curled up on the ground, apparently in too much pain from the wounds she'd sustained under Amarantha's care to move. I picked her up, murmured a quick apology when she whimpered, and winnowed to Feyre's cottage.

The sisters were already packed up and waiting for her. Nesta was pacing the floor, Feyre was standing awkwardly off to the side, quiver over he shoulder, gaze fixed on the door, and Lucien was seated at the wooden table, with his left hand clenching the leg so hard his knuckles were white. He didn't turn as I stepped through the door, but Nesta shrieked "Elain!" and Feyre anxiously rushed forward at the same time as her.

Nesta took Elain into her own arms, glaring at me as she did so, and set her gently down on the floor. She was on her knees beside her in a heartbeat, arms round her shoulders, sobbing "Elain, Elain, Elain, Elain, Elain, Elain," over and over into her hair. Feyre hovered beside them, looking like she wanted to join, but feeling too afraid to do it.

She looked up at me briefly, and the sorrow in her eyes gave me a stab of pity and resentfulness over this girl.

The girl who'd killed and fought and bargained to keep her sisters alive, but didn't feel welcome to share an embrace with them.

"Nesta," she said softly. "We need to-"

"You traitorous whore," spat a voice I dreaded.

The muscles in my back tensed up.

My heart stopped beating for an instant.

Nesta looked up from her sister and froze, eyes widening in something like horror.

I turned, begging with the Mother, with the Cauldron, with whatever fates would listen, that it wasn't true. But there stood Amarantha, with the Attor and a High Fae armed with a bow and arrow floating behind her, in all her wicked glory.

She surveyed the room. Me, with my clenched fists and trembling frame. Feyre, standing stock still, a faint snarl contorting her features. Nesta and Elain, whose grips on each other had tightened to what looked painful. Even Lucien in the background, who was watching the proceedings with a face as white as a sheet, from what I could see behind the mask. His metal eye seemed to stand out, especially, in his terror.

Her eyes returned to the Archerons. "The human filth who stopped my attack," she mused. A smile graced her face, but not for a second did I believe it was real.

Feyre stepped in front of her sisters. "Feyre," hissed Elain, eyes as wide as saucers.

The Faerie Queen halted for an instant, lifted her nose, and sniffed the air, her nostrils flaring. She glanced from Feyre to me and back again, a small smile playing about her lips.

It scared me shitless.

"Feyre?" Amarantha asked. She took a few steps forward, each one clacking loudly against the floor. "Fay-ruh." She seemed to enjoy the dance of the syllables across her tongue. "An old name, from our earliest dialects." I didn't now she bothered to make the observation, but that look she'd just donned was terrifying. "You were the one who heeded Tamlin and Lucien's warning?"

I wished she had the sense to deny it, but Feyre knew that Amarantha knew it was either her or her sisters, and there was no way she would sell them out, whether they loved her or not. "I was."

Amarantha reached out, and touched Feyre's cheekbone. The girl's jaw trembled. "Well then I suppose I was punishing the wrong bitch then, wasn't I?" was all the Faerie Queen said, but the threat in her words was enough.

Feyre just lifted her chin and stared her down.

She was willing to accept her fate.

I wasn't.

Nor was I the only one, thank the Cauldron.

" _Don't you touch her!_ "

There was a blur of brown and white, and a shriek and then everything happened at once.

Nesta lunged at the Faerie Queen and she was screaming incoherent things as they fell to the ground, grappling and punching and biting. Amarantha didn't dare use her stolen magic against an opponent who was so close but she was a faerie and faeries are significantly stronger than humans so soon enough she was on top of Nesta, and was gleefully snapping her bones one by one, and then she wrapped her hands round her neck and made to snap that too-

But Feyre wasn't having any of that, and she reached over her shoulder to tear two of those ash arrows out of her quiver, and she _dived_ at the two girls-

My attention whipped to the two faeries still in the doorway, seized the Attor's mind in my grip and shattered it, quickly and quietly, before I turned to the High Fae, but he'd already shot his arrow, and I could see the poison gleaming on it, and I could see the path it would take to pierce Feyre's long exposed neck, and I felt my wings flare behind me in response to an instinct to protect that roared from the depths of my soul to block its path even as I reached out and shattered that faerie's mind too-

But its wielder's death didn't stop the path of the missile, which burrowed into the membrane of my wing, and stuck there. I screamed and fell to my knees, and through the haze of pain I only managed to make out the sight of Feyre shoving Nesta out of the way and colliding with Amarantha and driving the arrow in her left hand into the soft white skin of her throat.

The Queen's eyes bulged. She reached up to pull the arrow out in an attempt to get her body to heal, but Feyre wouldn't move her hands. Even as the female squeezed tighter and tighter until I could hear the sound of bones breaking, she wouldn't yield. Then Feyre calmly took the arrow in her other hand, and drove it into Amarantha's heart.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the scene.

Not because the Faerie Queen's body went limp and fell to the ground, motionless.

Not because I felt my power barrel into me again after fifty years, like someone had finally opened a rusty old door and let it fly in.

Not even because the wound in my wing was burning a hole in my mind and heart.

But because I knew that hand, knew it even as it was wrapped around an arrow shaft, the closeness a grotesque illusion of intimacy, and blood flowed down it in a savage parody of the paint that once had. That hand that I saw fully ungloved for the first time since I'd met the owner in person.

My eyes tracked up to meet Feyre's which were scrunched in pain, but she found the energy to open them and reach out her good hand to gently shake Nesta's shoulder. She looked up then, and our gazes clashed. Exhaustion - such exhaustion I saw there.

There was no triumph whatsoever. In all honesty, I couldn't bring myself to feel it either.

But I looked at her, and a word flashed through my mind before I collapsed, the pain in my wing too much to bear.

All I heard was someone calling my name before the world went dark.


	9. Chapter IX

_Feyre_

The pain in my hand was excruciating, and that practical part of me that worried and angsted over the future wailed that I might never be able to hold a bow again if it didn't heal properly, but I pushed the thoughts to the back of my mind. Letting my injured hand hang limp against my left thigh, I immediately went to check on Nesta, and Elain, who'd run over and curled up in a ball hugging her on the floor. One of them was crying softly.

To my surprise, it was Nesta.

I didn't allow myself more than a moment to gape as I used my good hand to push myself onto my feet and reached out a hand to shake Nesta's shoulder. She sobbed harder. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Rhys pass out on the floor. Lucien was still pressed against the back wall, white as a sheet. _Later,_ I told myself. _I'll deal with them later._ My sisters came first.

Nesta screamed when I touched her, and I hastily pulled back, unsteadying myself in the process. Out of habit, I put my injured hand out to steady myself against the floor, and bit my lip so hard it drew blood as not only did the crushed bones shriek, but I touched Amarantha's limp arm. I stifled a scream myself. Elain looked on, her lovely face drawn in terror.

I turned to where Lucien cowered. "Can you heal her." It was a question, but without the choice typically offered in this sort of question. He trembled, but said nothing. " _Can you heal her._ "

"Yes." He breathed. "But I'm not very powerful. It would be better to go and find Tamlin; he's better at it than me, and he could-" His gaze fell on Rhys's prone body then, and fell silent.

"I don't want to risk anyone going out to find Tamlin, not when we don't know the state of the bitch's camp since she died, or if they even know she's dead-"

"They'll know-"

"-nor do I want to wait for your ever so gracious High Lord to deign to return. She could be dead by then for all we know." He may not know the dangers of infection, living in the high and mighty Spring Court, but I did. Too well. "So please, for the love of all that is good, _muster up whatever magic you have and heal her._ "

Lucien flinched like a scalded cat, and guilt twisted my stomach. I hadn't meant to yell, not when he already seemed so traumatised. But my nerves were frayed and my sister might be dying and my hand hurt like _hell_ and I guess I wasn't thinking straight in that moment.

I hated myself for it even as he approached Nesta, and knelt next to her, and she looked up at him with fear and hatred in her eyes but didn't resist when he took her arm and started doing whatever he needed to do to heal her. I turned away, and saw Rhysand on the floor. I exchanged a glance with Elain.

It was evident we both felt bad about leaving for dead on the floor someone we technically owed our lives to, so she helped me lift him into the next room, with our large double bed, and dumped him amongst the sheets. He groaned, even whilst unconscious, and seeing the arrow still in his wing, I dismissed Elain, took the small knife I usually used to slice open rabbits, and began to saw at the haft.

The _snap_ it made when I finally got through it was oddly satisfying, though the membrane of Rhys's wing shifted slightly like it itched as shavings of remaining dried blood that had fallen from the blade fell on it. I took a moment to admire the wings themselves, and the painter in me marvelled at the blacks and deep blues and rich purples, thread through with threads of silver and amber and crimson and gold. But the wings shimmered green in the new dawn light (was it dawn already? I hadn't noticed) and my stomach lurched at the tell tale signs of poison creeping through his veins, towards his heart.

I inspected the arrow head in my hand, careful not to cut myself on it, and sniffed at the liquid still drenching it, but the poison was unlike anything I'd ever seen before. I gritted my teeth. Based on Amarantha's intent as she'd walked through the door, it was a fair guess that it would be deadly.

I swallowed against my suddenly dry throat. Why did I care whether he lived or died? I barely knew him. But something deeper than instinct was urging me to save him, my morals not letting me let a person who saved me die - even if they were a faerie.

I flounced out of the room, leaving Rhys to his sleep. Lucien was still kneeling next to Nesta, who was muttering foul things as he set her bones, when I accosted him. "What do you know about poisons?"

He glanced up, looked almost relieved to look away from Nesta and her glares for a moment. "What?"

I repeated the question. He bit his lip, then admitted, "Not much. One time my friend was poisoned by another courtier, and I had to go out to catch the Suriel to tell me what to do to heal him, but that flower went extinct two hundred years ago, so I doubt whatever poison is plaguing you is anything like that." His nostrils flared then, and he glanced towards the room where Rhys slept. "Why are you helping Rhysand anyway?"

I ignored him. "What's the Suriel?"

"A faerie creature which will answer any question you have if you catch it, but it's extremely elusive and could kill a High Fae with ease, let alone a human." He frowned at me, seeming to have completely forgotten about the girl he was supposed to be healing. "And again, why are you helping Rhysand?"

I bristled under his accusatory stare. "He saved my life - not to mention Nesta's and Elain's, and possibly even yours - when he dispatched Amarantha's underlings. I don't know about you, but I don't leave life debts unpaid. It's just common decency."

Lucien's eyes cut a glare at the closed door again. "Many faeries don't know the meaning of that phrase. Especially Rhysand. 'Common decency' has never served us particularly well."

"So you're saying I'd be doing you a favour if I let him die." I clarified.

"You'd be doing us all a favour." His metal eye whirred, and an indignant flush crept up my neck at his scorn.

"Lucien, if you can't comprehend the idea of saving someone's life because it's a good thing to do, then at least understand the idea of an exchange of favours. He saved all our lives, the least I can do is save his. We granted you a favour once over when we allowed you and your High Lord to stay here, and you're repaying it by healing my sister. Now, we saved your life by killing Amarantha, the least you could do is help me with this!" I stopped to breathe. "How do I catch the Suriel?"

Lucien's brow creased, and there was something sorrowful about the way he looked at me then. "Is it ever difficult, dealing in favours in order to get something for yourself, rather than helping out of the goodness of your heart?"

"In the human realm, in our village at least, where there is little money, and little food, and we're all hell bent on survival, an oath is your currency. A favour is your currency. And charity is difficult to come by in these parts." I replied. The weight of it all had never felt so heavy to me.

Lucien studied me for a moment, face unreadable, then said, "The Suriel are few in number, but they're out there, and I wouldn't be surprised if some had snuck through the Wall into the mortal lands since Amarantha's been in power. The Suriel likes to hang around groves of young birch trees, and hates running water, so if you free one, and run, it's best to cross a stream or brook. If it's tempted in with the right bait - say, a freshly slaughtered chicken, or," he added, seeing my face and nodding at something behind me, "a fine cloak - then it likely won't notice a double-loop snare ready and waiting in the centre of the grove to trap it."

I turned to look at where he'd nodded, a plan already forming in my head, and saw Elain standing behind me, the new cloak she'd bought shortly before this whole mess had started hanging over her shoulders.

"Elain," I said slowly. "I need your cloak."

* * *

The woods were the same woods I'd hunted in for years, but the knowledge that there were faeries somewhere inside them made my skin prickle, and gave me nerves I hadn't felt since the very first time I'd visited.

In my left hand I clutched the rudimentary double loop snare I'd had Elain tie, under my careful instructions, and her cloak was slung over my shoulder. I had a small hunting knife at my waist, but with my injured hand I knew I would have to rely on running to escape the Suriel, rather than all out combat. I located the grove of birch trees I'd selected, with a small brook nearby, and set up my snare with the cloak carefully place inside it, to look like it'd just been dropped. Then I climbed a tree, and prepared myself for a long wait.

Surprisingly enough, it wasn't too long before the sounds of the woods faded into nonexistence. I held my breath amongst the silence as the lone sound of a few twigs cracking in the distance grew nearer, and nearer, and nearer.

There was a snap, then a howl, and the sound of beating wings as the spooked birds took off.

I shimmied down the tree trunk and when I landed, I put my hand on my knife handle and went to meet the Suriel.

It was a monstrous thing, all skin and bones, with disconcertingly large teeth that it bared at me when I came into view. Long, spindly fingers looking liable to break any moment clutched the scarlet material of Elain's cloak, the grip tightening as I stepped further forwards.

I drew my knife. "Are you one of the Suriel?"

It cocked its head. "A human," it mused. "Did you set this clever, wicked trap for me?" I didn't answer. "I'm the Suriel, yes."

"Then it was for you."

"A human." It said again. "Very well, human. Ask me your question, then free me."

I dared a step closer. "What poison was on those arrows?"

"Bloodbane," it answered.

"Where can I find the cure?"

"In the woods."

A breath hissed out from between my teeth. "Please don't be cryptic. _What_ is the cure?"

It narrowed it's eyes at me. "You aren't asking these things for yourself are you? You're asking for your mate."

I froze. "What?"

"You're asking for your mate aren't you?" The Suriel was leaning forwards slightly now, and I couldn't help but think there was some terrible glee in its face. "Your mate's lying dying, and you'd do anything to save him." It withdrew suddenly, and cocked its head again, like it finally took in my expression. "You look confused."

"I don't understand. Mate?"

"You would do anything to save him, it seems," it mused, "without even knowing why."

Suddenly it pricked its head up, and glanced behind itself in horror. I, with my inferior human hearing, heard nothing, but the Suriel's behaviour reminded me of a deer that had just scented its attacker, and a thought stabbed me in the gut: That maybe the Suriel was not the worse predator in these woods. Not anymore.

And if the Suriel was able to kill a High Fae, and a human is nothing to them. . . Cauldron, I was dead.

The Suriel turned back to me. "If you wish to heal your mate, find the pink flowering weed by the water's edge, and give it to him to chew on. Now," it finished, eyes wide and afraid. "Free me."

I hesitated for moment. "Why-"

"The Faerie Queen's allies are coming this way. They have heard of her death, and are fleeing retribution. If they find you, they will torture you until you beg for death in payment for killing her. If they capture me, they will cage me. _Free me, and run_ , _Cursebreaker_ _."_

"Cursebreaker?" I asked, incredulous, heart beginning to pound. The Suriel didn't answer.

I made a split second decision. I slashed at the rope binding it, and ran.

It didn't run after me.

And when I paused for an instant, to glance behind me, all that was left in the grove was the sliced rope and a scrap of scarlet fabric, caught on a twig.


	10. Chapter X

**Okay, so this is the last chapter of Painter's Hands. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed, and favourited, and I might be writing a few oneshots to be set in this storyline, so keep an eye out for those if you're interested.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own ACOTAR.**

* * *

 _Rhysand_

I woke to an awful taste in my mouth, an awful pain in my left wing, and a not-so-awful human girl sitting next to me.

My mind was remarkably clear, and I felt extremely well rested as I sat up. I flexed my wings, and was pleased to see there was no longer a hole where I'd been shot with the arrow. And limitless joy filled me as I felt the well of magic inside me - the well that'd been dry for fifty years - full and bursting with power. I felt a few scraps of it seep out to further soothe my wing, and enjoyed the feeling of just being _in control_ again.

Amarantha was dead.

I was free.

A sharp intake of breath to my right startled me out of my euphoric thoughts, and I snapped my head to the right. Feyre sat on the floor about a metre away from the bed I was lying in, her back at an awkward angle against the wall, her chin lolled to the side in sleep. I glanced around the room, taking in the cramped conditions, the dim light streaming through a single small window, and the chest of drawers painted lovingly with faded but bright brush strokes. My eyes trailed down them lazily. One drawer was painted with fire, and I wondered if that was meant to represent Nesta. It seemed likely, considering Elain's drawer was covered in flowers. Which meant Feyre had painted for herself-

My heart stopped.

She'd painted the night sky.

She'd painted my court.

She'd painted _me_.

I looked at her, remembering a time when I'd had the image of a painter's hand, and I'd felt the loneliness rolling off her through the bond, and pushed back the one image that gave me solace. The night sky, filled with thousands upon thousands upon thousands of stars.

She saw it. She saw me.

That word floated to the surface of my mind again, like a bubble I couldn't pop.

I looked back at her again, and this time I noticed the hand she cradled in her lap, even in sleep. It'd been hastily set, but whoever had done so had done a shoddy job of it. It was a wonder it hadn't been infected yet.

Feyre shifted in her sleep, then whimpered when the movement put weight on her hand. Her eyes flew open with a gasp, and tears spilled over her cheekbones as she pulled her left arm into her chest. She blinked away her remaining tears, then looked up to meet my gaze.

"You're awake." She observed, slightly breathless. "How are you feeling?"

"Perfect," I said, and in all honesty, it was more truth than lie. "Why were you sleeping on the floor?"

She shrugged, and winced as the motion upset her hand. "I was tired. I had to run like hell to get back here in time."

"Why? Was someone dying?"

She raised an eyebrow at me. " _You_ were. Nesta was, but Lucien healed her. The Suriel told me what the cure to the poison you had was."

"You- you ensnared the Suriel?" I asked incredulously, even as I knew instinctually that it was true. A blush threatened to overtake my face at the idea that this human girl had succeeded where I had failed. Twice.

"Yeah." She was surprisingly blasé about catching one of the most elusive faerie creatures in existence. "Now you're alive, Nesta's alive, everyone's happy."

"Why didn't Lucien heal you?" I asked bluntly.

Apparently my question took her by surprise, because she blinked twice, her expression taken aback. "What?"

"Lucien." I repeated. "If he healed Nesta, why can't he heal you too?" I gave her left hand a pointed glance. "If that heals wrong you might not ever be able to hold a bow again. Your family might starve. And if it gets infected, you'll die."

"Don't you think I know that?" She snapped back, her sudden (but expected) ire radiating off her in waves. "But Lucien exhausted himself keeping Nesta alive, so I doubt he can do anything more without killing himself. And Nesta and Elain already promised that if I can't hunt, they'll teach themselves to." Her eyes watered at that, and I had to wonder what that felt like, receiving such wonderful news from the sisters she was sure hated her.

"I can heal you," I offered.

She studied me intently. "What's a mate?"

For the second time in the span of a few minutes, my heart stopped. The started again. Then stopped again.

How the fuck did she know about mates?

Then the answer hit me, and I felt stupid for not realising. I closed my eyes then, and inhaled slowly. The Suriel. Of course it was the Suriel.

"How about this," I said, opening my eyes again. "I heal your hand, and I tell you whilst I do it."

She looked at me for a moment, and though I was dying to know what she was thinking, I kept firmly out of her mind. She deserved that much. What seemed like another fifty years later, she relented. "Alright," she said, with narrowed eyes. She stood up and at on the edge of the bed, offering me her hand.

I sat up further, and took it.

I explained as best I could as I healed her hand. She kept her eyes scrunched shut the whole time, and though I knew it was because of the pain, it touched me slightly that she would trust me enough to keep her eyes shut around me for such a long period of time.

"Right," she said, eyes still closed, just as I was putting the finishing touches on her hand. "So mates are basically these soul-bonded pairings destined to be together, but sometimes it's not a happy relationship they have."

"In a nutshell," I confirmed. I released her hand, and she opened her eyes to inspect it. Her whole body stilled.

"What. Did you do." She said, still staring at the curling, looping lines of dark blue ink that wound round her fingers and forearm up to her elbow, like an elaborate lace glove. She turned her hand over and narrowed her own eyes at the one I'd inked onto her palm. She turned that look on me. _Well_ , I thought. _At least she's not shouting, or demanding I remove it. It's a start_. "Care to explain?"

I grinned at her. "Consider it a gift. A mark of the Night Court's undying respect for you."

The look didn't go way. "Because I'm your mate."

"Because you killed Amarantha."

"But I am your mate. And you're my mate. That's what the Suriel said." It wasn't phrased like a question, but I could hear the uncertainty behind it.

"It's true." I said. I wished my mother had warned me about how strong and potent the mate bond would be. "If you want to be."

"I have a choice?" She looked shocked, and I had to remind myself that she wasn't used to having choices. For her, most things were live or die.

"Of course. You can choose to ignore the bond if you so wish, and if you want I'll fly away back to the Night Court and you never have to lay eyes on me again." Cauldron, I hoped she didn't choose that one. "You can accept it, and we can discuss what to do from there. Or I can leave you to figure it out if you want and you can tell me your decision via the bond when you're ready."

She looked uncertain. "I'm human. You're High Fae." I raised my eyebrow at her. She elaborated, "I'm mortal, you're. . . not."

I nodded, and swallowed tightly. "Indeed," was all I could say at first. The thought of her death, even when I barely knew her, was excruciating. "If you'd like time to decide, I under-"

"No." She cut me off, shaking her head. "It's just. . . Even if it feels like I've know you my whole life, I haven't. It's been a few days. I just want to get to know you properly before making any commitments."

"That sounds reasonable." I smiled at her. "Not to mention wise." A pause then I suggested, "How about you visit me in the Night Court for a week every month, until you make your decision? Once Prythian's settled down a bit." I tried for a smile, and surprisingly, it came quite easily.

She smiled back. "That sounds reasonable," she said, parroting my own words back at me.

There was an awkward moment of silence, then Feyre flexed her tattooed hand, avoiding my gaze. Then, without warning, leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek.

I smiled at her, broad and bright and genuine, as she flushed red, and it felt like a promise of better things to come.

* * *

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